


Memory Traps

by Macx



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Angst, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winston's past comes back to haunt him in a bad way and in the most inconvenient situation. Peter ends up bearing the brunt of the tidalwave</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Traps

**Author's Note:**

> written originally in the mid-nineties

Peter came down the stairs from the third floor and yawned mightily. It was close to noon and time for him to get some breakfast into his empty stomach. Though he hadn't had a date last night he had slept late as usual. As he went over to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee he discovered Winston Zeddemore sitting on the couch, leafing through what looked like a photo album. The psychologist frowned, poured himself the coffee, taking a second one along for Winston. Instinct told him that the black Ghostbuster needed someone to talk to. Normally Winston wasn't the one to sit around and look at pictures all alone. Mostly he was together with Ray when the younger man showed him college photos or all the things he had taken pictures of on one of their vacations. And Peter hadn't seen the album before either. From where he stood he saw it was very old.

"Mornin', Winston," he greeted the other man jovially, placing the cup on the table in front of him.

Winston looked up. "Mornin', Pete." He took the cup and sipped at the dark liquid.

Peter sat down beside him, glancing at the photos. "Family?" he asked neutrally, keeping his cheery side up.

Winston's face made a change Peter couldn't quite categorize. It became slightly darker, though the psychologist saw traces of fond memories rise inside his older friend.

 "Yes, somehow." He turned a page. "In a way, they were all my family for a time."

Peter looked at the photos more closely. They showed different men, some cheery, some very serious. They all had one thing in common: they were wearing camouflage uniforms, their faces painted with dark green or black patterns. One face was familiar, though younger.

"That's you, right?" Peter asked softly, pointing at the young, dark-skinned man with the automatic gun who stood beside another dark-skinned, though Spanish looking man.

Winston nodded, his face dark. "Yes." He turned another page.

"Why are you looking at those pictures now?" the psychologist wanted to know as his friend kept on turning the pages.

Zeddemore shrugged. "I don't know." Then he sighed. "It's been 20 years now since I came home, you know."

Silence.

"20 years," Winston repeated and shook his head.

"I've never been there," Peter said quietly. "We heard a lot about the war at Columbia, but ...." He shrugged.

"I was there for the last one and a half years. I lost a lot of good friends." He closed his eyes. "Too many were killed."

Peter placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" It wasn't like Winston to suddenly dwell on dark memories. Maybe he did it sometimes, but Peter had never seen him like this.

The black man turned his head, dark eyes looking at Venkman. "I don't know." He lifted the album and got a letter out from under it, shoving it to Peter. "I got this today."

Peter took the letter, looking at the address on the back. It was from Philadelphia. "Who do you know in Philadelphia?"

"Old pal of mine. From the same squad I was in back in 'Nam."

"Why did he write?" Peter didn't want to open the letter and read the -- probably personal -- note. He laid it back on the table.

"He wants our squad to meet again. After all this time." He drew a shuddering breath. "I tried so hard to forget about that time. Crazy, huh? It's part of me like college is part of you guys.  I try to forget something which I'm always reminded of every time we go on a bust."

Peter raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Why?" he wanted to know. "Ghostbusting can't be like ... like a war."

"It can. We go up against an unknown enemy and we're likely to get hurt."

 _Not to think about casualties._ But Winston didn't say that. He was the only one with those experiences. He was the only one of them who had lost friends in a battle. True, they got injured, sometimes badly. Egon had 'died', in a way, when he was hit by the atomic destabilizer and later disappeared into the Netherworld. But there had always been a way back for them, always a way out. In 'Nam there had been no way out.

"But it's not a war we're fighting against those ghosts, Winston," Peter insisted. "They scare people, we bust them. It's not a war," he repeated. "It's our job and it might be dangerous, but it's not like 'Nam."

Another silence. The Winston stood up. "Maybe you're right, Pete," he said slowly.

"Will you go to the meeting?" Peter changed the subject back to the original topic.

"I don't know. I've to think about it."

Peter stood up, too, and walked over to where Winston was staring out of the window. He placed a hand on the tense shoulder and squeezed it slightly.

"Go there. They're your friends. Maybe it settles some ghosts to talk with them." He gave the other man a clap on the shoulder. "If you need someone to accompany you," he said softly, "just give me a call."

Winston smiled, humor chasing the shadows away. "You wouldn't like it there, Pete. And you'd get teased because you weren't there."

Peter grimaced. "Ow, that hurts. Such a vote of confidence! Listen, I can talk up to any one of your buddies any time."

Winston chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I'd have to protect them from you."

"And we could always take along Egon to give them the death blow," Peter added with as much seriousness as he could muster.

That drew more chuckles. Then Winston turned, his face serious again. "Thanks for the offer, Peter. But I still have to think about going there at all."

"Just let me know."

The other man nodded and Peter gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Now I have to get something solid to eat," he announced and disappeared into the kitchen.

That was the moment the alarm went off. A loud groan emitted from the area of the kitchen.

"That's not fair!" came Peter's wail of protest and he followed Winston downstairs to dress up.

 

* * *

 

The ghost made another dive and his aim was set on Egon. The blond scientist made a head jump for cover and heard the ghost rush past. Ectoplasm splattered down beside him, only a few drops touching his booted feet.

"There he goes!" Ray yelled enthusiastically and fired after the ghost.

Another stream joined his, and Egon discovered Winston making his appearance from behind one of the many trees in this part of Central Park. But both streams missed and the greenish ghost, which was hard to spot in the already twilightish green park escaped again. This bust was the last one scheduled for this day and it was the hardest one. The former ones had been pesty little class-2's, but this ghost was a real nasty. It had scared some park visitors and the park area where the ghost had appeared had been closed off for the moment.

"We won't catch him this way," Winston said and helped Egon to his feet.

"We have to surround it and then hit it with the proton streams." Egon looked around. "Where is Peter?"

"The last time I saw him he ran for cover behind one of the large boulders."

Egon raised both eyebrows. "Isn't the lake directly behind ....?"

Before he could complete the sentence a dripping wet figure came around the man high boulder and walked over to the other three Ghostbusters.

"If I hear one comment about taking a dive in a no-swimming area," the psychologist held off Winston who had already opened his mouth to say something, "you're gonna end up in the containment unit -- along with the rest of you," Peter threatened the other two men, who grinned broadly.

The black Ghostbuster simply said, "Yo, Pete", and grinned at him.

Peter grimaced. "Where's green-and-incredibly-ugly?" he wanted to know.

"He disappeared in the small forest," Ray explained. "Egon thinks we can only trap him if we catch him in a crossfire."

"As long as we don't have to cross the streams." Peter gave a bright smile. "Haven't done that in a long time. What do you think, big guy? Do we get a chance to do it again today?"

Egon gave him a stern look and walked off towards the group of trees where his P.K.E. meter told him the ghost was. The others followed him, Peter leaving wet marks on the paved way.

"Aw, you're no fun!" Peter complained.

As they entered the forest the light was getting less and less. It was close to 8 p.m. and they would need flash lights soon if they didn't catch the ghost in the next thirty minutes.

"The ghost is directly in front of us," Egon said and pointed into the dark. "We will split up here and surround it."

Peter heaved a sigh, adjusted the pack on his back and gave Winston a nudge. "Come on, let's get this nasty trapped. I wanna get home and take a hot shower."

"Why that, Pete?" Winston asked with innocence. "You're already wet."

"Oh, you with no heart!" Peter moaned and walked off into the darkness.

Winston followed him, the grin still on his face. Egon and Ray took the other way and went around the ghost, which was still not moving.

"I hate that jungle." Peter muttered and evaded another low branch.

"This is a picnic place compared to a real jungle," Winston could be heard from behind.

"I still hate it." Suddenly Peter stopped. "There it is," he hissed in a low whisper.

Winston followed the indicating finger and discovered the green ghost. It was glowing slightly in the dark. He readied his proton rifle and knelt down to take better aim.

Peter moved further along and then stopped, too. He trained his rifle on the ghost, pulling the walkie talkie out of his pocket and thumbing down the 'transmit' button.

"This is bush commando #2. Target sighted, ready to bust on your command, oh foresty one."

"We're not yet in position, Peter," came Egon's bass voice over the tiny loudspeaker. "Wait till I give you the sign."

"We shalle wait fore thy divine signe," Peter said dramatically. "Whatever it may be," he concluded in a mutter.

That was the moment the ghost choose to make a move. Peter didn't know whether it had heard the walkie talkie or whether it was just tired of hanging around. But it definitely had it in for the two Ghostbusters. With a howl it made a dive for Peter. The psychologist gave a yell of protest and lifted his proton rifle. He fired, stumbling back in the same move to avoid being splattered with slimy goo.

The ghost made an erratic flight away from the dangerous proton stream -- and headed for Winston. The Ghostbuster reacted just like Peter, lifting his rifle, but he was one split second too late. The ghost slimed him -- very thoroughly -- as it passed him. Winston gave a startled yell and lost balance, falling to the ground.

"Winston!"

Peter scrambled over to his fallen comrade, leaving the ghost to escape -- which it did.

"Winston, are you okay?"

He looked him over. Winston was covered from head to toe with green slime. The stuff clung to him like chewing gum. The black man's eyes were wide with what Peter thought he recognized as shock. And that shocked him in return. Winston had been slimed before -- as had everyone of the team -- and it had never resulted in such an expression on his face. It looked like he was completely confused, maybe a bit afraid .....

"Winston, buddy, answer me." He tapped him lightly on the cheek. "Aahhh!"

Winston's hand had come up and now encircled Peter's wrist, holding him tightly and painfully. He turned his head and looked closely at the psychologist, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.

"Who are you?" he asked in a dead voice.

Peter blinked. "I'm Peter, don't you know me?" _Please, not amnesia! It can’t be amnesia! He didn’t hit his head anywhere!_

"I don't know you, pal."

"But I know you, Winston. Don't you remember me? Peter Venkman, your old buddy."

Winston frowned. "I never heard that name. Where are the other guys? Did they get them?"

"They? Who are they?"

Winston suspicious frown deepened. Then he suddenly listened up. Peter could hear footsteps. That had to be Egon and Ray coming for them. He began to rise, but Winston's hand still clasped his wrist and the other man pulled him down.

"Who is that?" he hissed, his whole body tense.

"That must be Ray and Egon. They ...."

The grip became crushingly painful and Peter gave a wheeze of protest.

"I don't know any Ray or Egon. And I don't know you, man." Dark eyes bore into Peter's green ones. "Who are you working for? You're one of them, right? It's a trap!"

"Winston, what ...?" Peter didn't get any further because Winston pushed him away, rising in one fluid motion. He grabbed the proton rifle and turned around, listening intently. Then he trained the weapon towards where the footsteps could be heard.

Peter realized at that moment that his friend was intent on shooting Ray and Egon. He scrambled to his feet.

"Winston, no!"

With a yell he threw himself at the black man and grabbed for the rifle, trying to disarm him. But Zeddemore must have expected that. He moved away and in the same movement slammed the heavy proton rifle on Peter's temple. The psychologist felt pain explode inside his head and fell to his knees with a moan. But he wasn't completely out. Through blurry eyes he saw Winston turn away from him towards the two Ghostbusters, who were coming closer. The unmistakable hum of the pack told the psychologist enough. With an incredible amount of will power he got up and almost fell at the other man, grabbing the thrower.

Winston fought him for control over the weapon, his face contorted in rage. His thumb hit the trigger button and a brilliant ray of ionized protons shot out of the tip of the rifle. Peter felt something hot burn his upper arm and gave way with a grunt of pain. That was enough free room for Zeddemore to move. He slammed the rifle a second time into Peter's head. The psychologist was hurled backwards and went down again. This time he stayed down.

"Winston? Peter?"

Voices drifted over to them and the footsteps had broken into a run. Winston stared at the downed man, then at the weapon he still held. There was a puzzled frown on his forehead. But instinct overcame the wonder and he made a run for the darker parts of the forest.

 

*

 

Only seconds after Winston had disappeared, Ray and Egon broke through the undergrowth. Ray stopped dead in his tracks when he took in the scene before him in the fading light of the day. Peter lay on the ground,  motionless. Of Winston there was no sign. The occultist felt Egon brush past him. The physicist knelt down beside Venkman and Ray heard a barely surpressed gasp as Egon turned Peter on his back. With quick hands he stripped the pack off the unconscious man.

Ray finally got his legs to move and came closer. He didn't even have to tell his knees to bend. They simply buckled at the sight of Peter. The dark-haired man's face was covered with blood flowing out of a wound on his cheekbone and his left temple was bruised. The uniform fabric of his right arm was charred and as Egon pulled the blackened material away, Ray saw the red and blistered burn.

"What happened?" he whispered, asking no-one in particular.

As if Peter had heard the question he moaned softly and his eyelids fluttered open. The green eyes were dilated and blurred. He flinched as Egon touched the seeping wound with a handkerchief.

"Peter?" the physicist asked, keeping the pressure on the wound.

"Egon?" Venkman's voice faltered a bit. He licked his dry lips. "Winston ...."

"What happened, Peter? Where is Winston?"

"Got slimed," the other man muttered. "He .... acted strange." Peter tried to bat Egon's hand away from his face, but Ray caught the hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Acted strange?" Egon repeated. "How?"

"Didn't know me." There was a pain in the green eyes that had nothing to do with the physical pain he felt.

"Winston's got amnesia?" Ray called in horror. "Oh, no!"

Peter wearily shook his head and was sorry for it in the same instant because pain exploded behind his eyes. He tried to sit up and managed so with Ray's help. Peter gasped a bit as his arm started to burn with pain and closed his eyes. The world was turning around him like a merry-go-round.

"Not amnesia," he whispered, leaning onto Egon who readily supported him. "He acted completely out of character. He was afraid and he .... he wanted to shoot you."

Ray's already pale face turned ashen. "Shoot us? Why?"

"He said we are with 'them', whoever they are. I don't know. I tried to tell him we're his friends, but he was already convinced that we're the enemy. And then he heard you coming ..."

"And you prevented him from shooting us," Egon said with a neutral voice, still fussing over the dark-haired man. "That was a very dumb stunt, Peter. Winston's stronger than you."

"I know," the psychologist muttered, gingerly touching his cheekbone. Egon grabbed his hand and prevented him from getting more dirt into the open wound.

"You have to see a doctor, Peter. You might have a concussion."

"I'm not leaving Winston alone. He's still out there, convinced that everyone is the enemy." Emerald eyes flared with anger.

"And right now you're in no condition to ...."

"Leave the worrying about my condition to me, Egon," Peter said coldly.

Egon looked at him with silent reproach.

"Somebody help me up?" Peter asked, his tone light, but his whole manner serious.

Ray pulled him up and the dark-haired man swayed for a second. He breathed deeply, wishing his head would stop spinning.

"Peter......," Ray began, but was silenced by another angry glare.

"We have to find him before he does something foolish," the dark-haired man insisted.

"The police ...." Egon started.

"Nothing 'the police'! We will find him and we get him home. I don't know what that ghost did to him, but I don't want him to get hurt by some trigger-happy rookie cop!"

With that Peter walked off into the darkness. Ray and Egon glanced at each other and then followed him.

 

*

 

He was running, though he didn't know exactly what from. Stopping beside a tree he leaned against the rough surface, trying to catch his breath. The jungle around him was quiet and dark. There was no sound from animals of any kind. Even the insects were quiet. The heavy pack was slowing him down, but he didn't dare shed it somewhere. It was his only weapon against ... against .... He frowned. What was he running from? And who was chasing him?

His eyes fell on the strange rifle in his hands and the frown deepened. And what kind of weapon was this anyway? And why was it so important that he couldn't leave it somewhere?

Winston Zeddemore slowly sank down on the slightly damp ground, his face covered with sweat. His thoughts whirled around the reason of his flight, his whereabouts, the pack on his back and it's use.

 _What am I doing? Where are my friends?_ He looked around, listening intently and thought he could hear footsteps somewhere. His mind told him to run, but another voice, a tiny, little voice, told him to sit tight. The footsteps were help. They signaled the coming of his friends. Slowly, he got up again.

 _No, no! It's the enemy! Remember the other one from before? He tried to sell you to the enemy!_

Yes, the dark-haired man who had seemed so familiar and then had turned into a complete stranger in the next instant. Who was he? Why was he so damned familiar?

The footsteps came closer and suddenly someone came out of the undergrowth and stepped into the clearing. It was the dark-haired man. Winston lifted the alien rifle in his hands, somehow remembering how it worked. He just had to hit the trigger button .....

"Hello, Winston."

The voice was familiar, too. It was soft and gentle, but insisting.

"Winston, it's me, Peter. You know me, buddy, do you?"

"No, I don't know you," he heard himself say, while his brain screamed 'you know him, you know him'.

"I'm one of the three guys who hired you, remember? You walked through the doors of Ghostbuster Central and we came home from a bust. Hired you from the spot." A smile crept over the man's face. "Well, you were the only one who applied for the job anyway."

"I wasn't hired by you. I was recruited."

"No, Winston. Wherever you think you are, you're not there. You're in Central Park, aiming a proton rifle at your best friend."

Another noise from the bushes and two more men stepped into the clearing.

"Stay back!" Winston ordered, waving the rifle.

The dark-haired man who had been here first held up a hand. "They won't come closer, Winston. Promise. It's just me." When there was no answer, he went on talking. "Can you tell me what year it is?"

"Year? Why'd you want to know that?"

"What year is it, Winston?" the man insisted.

"It's 1972," he found himself answering the familiar figure. "Everybody knows that."

"And where are you?"

"What's that, buddy? What are you stalling time for? Waiting for more of you to arrive and take me down?"

The dark-haired man shook his head and seemed to regret it. "No. There won't be anybody else coming here. It's just me and Egon and Ray. And they will stay back as you ordered. Now tell me where you are."

"'Nam. The jungle," he answered. "Can't you see it? It's all around you!"

"No, it isn't. It's a park. There's no jungle, my friend."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No, I just want you to see the truth. I don't know what that ghost did to you, but somehow it got to you. Think, Winston! It's not 1972! It's 1992."

"You're lying to confuse me," the black man hissed.

"No, I'm not. It's kinda like when we encountered the Sandman, remember? You're living in a dreamworld. What you see is not real."

"A dreamworld?" Winston echoed. "This isn't a dream, man! This is reality!" He blinked, rubbing his eyes with his right hand and coming away sticky and cold. It wasn't blood on his face, it was something else.

"Sticks to you, right?" the other man asked lightly. "I can tell. I always get slimed by Slimer."

"Slimer?" Winston repeated, wondering why the funny name sounded so familiar, too.

"Little, green pest with bad table manners and a knack to slime my bed -- and me."

A picture of something green, shaped like a potato and very slimy popped up in Winston's mind and he lowered the rifle a bit. The man stepped forward, swaying a little. Winston raised the rifle again.

"Stay were you are!"

"Okay, I'm not moving. But I keep on talking until you listen to me." When there was no reply, he continued. "Do you remember when we defeated Gozer? We had a hell of a party afterwards. And one hard job to get Central back into shape, not to speak of the ghosts we had to catch after the containment blew sky-high. You remember Gozer, do you?"

Winston frowned. His mind supplied him with a battle, fire everywhere, lightning, darkness.

"And don't tell me you forgot Ecto-1!" the man continued, stepping closer again.

This time Winston didn't raise the gun. A white car with flashers appeared in his mind.

"You're always on our case when it's time for a car show and we try to get in with our boots wet and dirty. You're unbearable then." Another grin.

The man came closer, his hands outstretched, signaling he was unarmed. His movements were very unsteady and Winston saw the strain in the taut, thin face. Dark bangs of hair hung over his forehead, but he didn't brush them away, afraid to make too many sudden moves.

"And you even banished a demon with nothing more than just words and a bit of magic. You did great there, Winston. Remember?"

A demon?

"There are no such things as demons," he insisted, but sounded unsure.

"You said so before when we hired you. But you were ready to believe everything as long as we paid you for it."

Another step. The dark-haired man swayed badly, but kept on his feet. There was a determination shining in those green eyes that sparked a memory in Winston's brain.

"I ...." he stuttered, completely insecure now. The rifle was no longer trained on the man in the jumpsuit that looked so much like the one he wore.

"And didn't we have fun when Samhain broke out of the containment unit? Don't tell me you forgot that, too! Or the mansion with all the ghosts coming out of holes. Remember when you threw that tiny hole in the large one? There was a monster coming our way and you risked your life to bust it."

All of a sudden the environment changed around Winston. The jungle he had seen shifted back into a park. Memories flushed the walls that had kept him from remembering. He buried his head in one hand, taking a deep breath. When he looked up again he saw Peter standing only a few feet away. His face was covered with blood and he was deathly pale under all that blood. Pain swirled in his emerald eyes and he looked like on the verge of complete collapse.

"Peter?" Winston asked, worry tingeing his unsteady voice.

Peter sighed in relief and stepped forward. That was when his knees buckled. Winston caught the crumpling man, sinking to the ground with him.

"Peter!"

Egon and Ray rushed to his side. He didn't know where they had come from and right now he didn't care. All he was worried about was the lax form of his friend he was holding in his arms. He saw the charred uniform fabric. What had happened?

"We have to get him to a hospital," Egon's bass voice held a note of deep worry and he wrapped his long fingers around the wrist of the psychologist. "He might have a concussion."

"Concussion?" Winston repeated. "What happened?" He stared at the other two Ghostbusters, who hastily exchanged a look. Something was wrong. "Guys, what's wrong? Who did this to Peter?"

"Later, Winston. We have to get Peter to the hospital."

Winston decided to follow Egon's words and slowly stood up, dragging the unconscious psychologist with him. Ray was at Peter's other side and together they carried him back to Ecto-1.

 

* * *

 

Peter woke reluctantly, his head aching abominably. He cracked open one eye, squinting into what he immediately recognized as the bedroom of Ghostbuster Central. It was broad daylight in the room and the light hurt his eyes, turning the hammering behind his eyes into a staccato. He turned his head away from the light, the movement waking a whole set of new pains. He groaned and tried to sit up, sinking back with an even louder groan. How could one man feel so miserable.

"Peter?"

At the sound of the bass voice Peter opened his eyes again, blinking and focusing on the figure in the doorframe.

"Yo, Egon" His voice was a whisper, but stronger than he had expected. And it elicited such an open relief on the other man's face that Peter forgot his own pain immediately, concentrating on his friend.

"Peter, how are you?"

"Feeling lousy," he answered truthfully. He tried to sit up again and Egon helped him.

"You look terrible."

Peter grimaced. "Thanks. You're a great boost for my ego, Spengs. How bad does it look?"

The blond man eyed him closely, tilting the other man's face with one hand. "Bad," he then said.

Peter leaned back into his pillows and sighed. "I think I need a mirror," he muttered.

"Believe me, you don't want one."

That brought a smile on Peter's face. Then he remembered what had happened and sobered immediately, fixing his gaze on Egon again.

"Where's Winston?"

Egon understood the sense of that question and sighed. "He's downstairs in the kitchen. He's been there since lunch."

"Lunch?" Peter looked at the clock that stood on the small table beside bed. His eyes widened as he saw the time.

Egon merely nodded. "He's been very quiet."

The dark-haired man closed his eyes. He remembered parts of what had happened. First there had been the 'discussion' with Ray and Egon about going after Winston. He had won and they had followed the trail of broken twigs Winston had left. And they had found their friend only a few hundred meters away from where he had knocked down Peter.

 

 _"You guys stay here," Peter said briskly, his eyes on Winston, who was sitting in front of a tree._

 _"Peter....." Egon had started, but was silenced by Peter's look._

 _"I'll talk to him," the psychologist said and straightened his shoulders. He had a pounding headache and the world had a tendency to start spinning around him. But he had to talk to Winston._

 _"We will be close, Peter," Egon said neutrally, but his eyes spoke of his worries._

 _Peter gave him a smile and stepped into the small clearing. At the sound of his footsteps Winston jumped to his feet._

 _"Hello, Winston."_

 

Peter knew he had collapsed after the talk and that someone had caught him. He remembered the feeling as the whole world had tilted sideways and his knees had given way. That was about all. He had come to just before they had arrived at the hospital and had roused enough to answer the doctor's questions. He had also been conscious enough to pester the emergency staff long enough to get himself signed out. The doctor hadn't liked it, but after Peter had signed the appropriate papers he hadn't been able to keep him. Aside from the bruises and the burn on his upper right arm he was fine.

Winston had been examined, too, but there hadn't been any physical after-effects from the slime. The black man was in perfect health, though a bit exhausted.

They had driven home late that night, with Ray at the wheel, Winston in the front, and Peter and Egon in the back. Peter had dozed off and he dimly remembered being carried to bed.

Peter opened his eyes again and made moves to get out of bed. Egon's restraining arm kept him from swinging his legs out.

"Where do you think you're going, Peter?" he asked sternly.

"Downstairs. I need some coffee and something to eat. I'm starving." He pushed the arm aside and flung back the cover of his bed. Not that he felt hungry at all, just the opposite. The mentioning of food made him feel more than sick. But he had to get downstairs, with one excuse or another.

"I'll get you something, Peter," Egon offered, knowing as well as Peter that the psychologist wasn't after solid food. "Stay here. You have a mild concussion."

"Feels like a ton of mild concussions from where I'm lying," the psychologist admitted. "But, no, Egon. I'll get it myself." Peter's eyes fixed on Egon's blue one's and he stood, swaying a bit. His head pounded visciously and the headache was off scale, but he was intent on going downstairs, concussion or not.

Egon surpressed a sigh and steadied his friend. Peter dressed as quickly as possible. He didn't want to appear as an invalid. Egon understood his friend's motives and helped him in subtle ways that wouldn't make Peter feel like a child that needed someone to dress it.

Both men went downstairs. Here they met Ray who sat in front of the TV, watching a talkshow. As he heard them come down the spiral stairs he looked up, his eyes widening as he took in Peter.

"Peter!" He jumped up. "Why are you not in bed?"

Peter pulled a face. "Everyone wants me in bed," he complained. "You planning something or why do you want me out of the way, Ray?"

Ray bounded over to him and eyed him closely, his eyes lingering on the puffy cheekbone.

"You look dreadful, Peter."

"Terrible, dreadful -- what's next?" Peter raised both eyebrows. "You two don't know any compliments for a wounded man?"

Ray grinned. "Awful?" he suggested.

Peter stuck out his tongue. "Is Winston still in the kitchen?" he then asked, all of a sudden very serious.

Ray, too, lost the happy look and nodded. The dark-haired man straightened a bit and Ray and Egon watched him walk into the kitchen where they could hear Winston busying himself with the dishes.

Peter stopped just before entering and steeled himself for the conversation to come. Then he painted a smile on his lips and stepped inside the kitchen.

"Yo, Winston," he called jovially. "Got some coffee for poor, old me?"

Winston flinched violently and nearly let go of the pan he was cleaning. He turned, his eyes wide and Peter could tell the moment the other man saw the bruises he himself had yet to see in a mirror.

"Peter," Winston whispered.

"The one and only," the psychologist replied brightly, fishing a cup out of the lately acquired dishwasher and waving it. "I need something to let the air out of this cup."

Winston got the coffee and poured Peter a cup. The dark-haired man leaned casually against the cupboards, watching his friend. Winston looked okay on the surface, but there was something in his eyes Peter didn't like. It wasn't the open guilt Ray always showed when something went wrong and he blamed himself for it. It wasn't the indifference Egon tried to broadcast when he wanted to cover his real emotions. It was a haunted look of a man who had seen too much and done too little in his own perception.

"You want a sandwich?" Winston broke the silence which was getting too uncomfortable for his own liking.

"Would be great," Peter lied, his stomach revolting at the very thought of having to digest food.

Winston went over to the fridge, got out what he needed and cut two slices of bread. As he made the sandwich he was acutely aware of Peter's gaze on his back. As he turned to give him the sandwich he evaded a direct look. Peter took the sandwich and placed it on the counter.

"Winston?"

The black man looked up. "Yes?"

"How are you?"

"Fine." He turned back to the dishes he was removing from the dishwasher.

Peter walked over to the dishwasher and helped him.

"You don't have to help me, Pete. You should be in bed." Winston took a plate out of his hands and stowed it away.

Peter took a glass out of the machine and placed it on the counter. "I just got a bump on the head. Nothing more. I'm fine."

Winston looked up with narrowed eyes. "You got a concussion, man. You're not fine."

Peter raised both eyebrows. "And so are you," he said quietly.

Winston turned his eyes away again. "I'm really fine." As he reached out for the glass Peter took hold of his wrist.

"Winston," he said softly. "We need to talk about what happened."

The other man jerked his hand out of Peter's grasp. "No, we don't! I know what happened and I know how to deal with it!"

"And what exactly happened?"

"I beat you up!"

"You didn't beat me up, Winston."

Dark brown eyes stared angrily at him. "So? What did I do then? I raised my hands against you and beat you unconscious! I could have killed you!"

Ray and Egon had -- very reluctantly -- told him what they had heard from Peter after they had found their friend barely conscious on the ground. Winston didn't remember anything of it. He only had those unwanted memories trying to overrun him and it was hard enough to fight against a two decade old pain without knowing that it was him who had beaten up Peter.

Venkman shook his head, regretting the movement immediately because pain exploded behind his eyes. He took a deep breath. "No, Winston. It wasn't you. You got slimed by that ghost and the slime did something to you. It made you see things that weren't there."

"That's no excuse!"

"I'm not trying to excuse your actions, simply trying to tell you that it wasn't your fault what happened. It was taken out of your hands." Peter laid a hand on Winston's arm. "Winston, please. It wasn't you."

"It was me. I don't think Egon would have raised a hand against any of you if it had been him who got slimed. The violence was there in me and it got triggered by the slime, that's what happened!"

Winston turned away and tried to walk out of the kitchen, but Peter held him back. As Zeddemore felt the hand on his arm he whirled round, anger and fear mixing in his eyes.

"Winston ....."

"Let me go!"

"No, I won't let you go."

Winston curled his hand into fists, but made no move to strike. "Let go!"

"Listen to me, buddy," Peter continued, unperturbed by the open display of readiness for a fight. "You are not a violent man. Don't think that of you, because I know you. You couldn't hurt any of us."

"I hurt you, Pete. You don't know me. Not really. You don't know what happened in the war. I shot other people. I killed!"

Winston rarely talked about his time in Vietnam, hardly at all. There had been few times he had lost a word about those months and when he said something it did not concern his involvement. Peter had never pressed him into talking with him about what worried him. He simply waited.

"Yes, you hurt me, Winston," the psychologist said bluntly and the other man flinched. "But you never intended it. You were influenced by that ghost. It's true that I don't know what happened all those years ago and I won't force you into talking with me about it, but I don't accept those excuses. Because that's what they are. You're making it up as an excuse. Don't you understand, Winston? It wasn't you yesterday!"

"It was me, Peter! Another me from 20 years ago you don't really know!" The dark-skinned man shivered and averted his eyes. But Peter saw tears gathering there.

Winston normally wasn't the man to break down and cry. He was the quiet backbone, the man who never made a big deal of being there. In a way he was like Egon. And like Egon, Winston was sometimes taken for granted.

Peter stepped forward and gently embraced his friends. His arm protested, but he ignored it.

 "It's not your fault, buddy," he whispered intently. "Not your fault, you hear me?"

Winston had stiffened first, now returned the embrace. He still shivered and felt Peter's arms tighten around him protectively. After some time he freed himself, holding Peter at arm's length and for the first time really looking him straight in the face. The haunted look was still in his eyes, though it wasn't so strong any longer. Peter made a mental note to try and get Winston to talk about the war some time. If he wanted to. He would never force the other man into the talk.

"How do you feel?" Winston asked softly, eyeing the bruise on the psychologist's cheekbone.

"A bit headachy, but fine." Peter grabbed the sandwich. "Why don't we go and pester Egon a little? I think he's hot about telling us about that ghost."

For a second Winston's face darkened at the mention of that particular ghost, but then nodded. "Yeah, let's go. I'm interested in it, too."

Peter gave him a final, intense look, then smiled. Together they left the kitchen.

Egon sat at the small desk on the second floor, Ray leaning on the shelf on the wall close to the desk. Both turned immediately as they heard the footsteps. Egon's eyes flew from Peter's smiling face to the now a little bit more relaxed seeming Winston. Ray smiled as he recognized that Peter and Winston seemed to have resolved part of the problem.

"Now," Peter started, "we're all here, we're all more or less awake -- Egon why don't you tell us a little about the nasty that got away?"

Egon shoved the red-rimmed glasses up his nose and settled back in the chair. "Ray and I checked the ectoplasm we collected off Winston's uniform and compared it and the readings with what we have in Tobin's Spirit Guide. The ghost is apparently a Class-5. The slime has strong psi-residues. We think it reacts with the skin and releases some substance that influences the person hit by the slime. I'm not yet sure how large the dosage of slime has to be for the person concerned to be influenced by the substance. I haven't found the substance yet, either."

"So he slimes someone and this somebody thinks he or she is somewhere in his or her past." Peter scratched his chin. "Psych slime. Nasty."

"Exactly."

"But why did Winston think he was in a jungle and not somewhere else?"

Egon's blue eyes fixed on the black Ghostbuster, then back on Peter. "I think the slime triggers something in the human brain. A memory of a terrible moment in one's life, something that hit us very hard."

Winston's face clouded for a second, then he resumed a neutral look again.

"And we live through that memory again," Ray concluded. "When I looked up the ghost in 'Tobin's I followed a cross-reference to 'Bradley's Spooks and Hauntings' and found a short note about this kind of slime. Ninety-nine percent of the ghosts we know are not able to produce this stuff, but the one percent that can is very dangerous. Some people committed suicide after they were slimed because of what they lived through." Ray shot a look at Winston. "We are lucky this was not the case yesterday." His voice was soft and caring.

"My theory is, that the ghost uses the slime as its defense. The enemy gets confused and it can escape. The more slime hits a person, the stronger the emotions and reality shifts become," Egon put in.

"So what do we do about that ghost?" Peter wanted to know. "It's still roaming the streets and attacking innocent people."

"I'm working on a device that picks up the frequency of this ghost, singling out all other readings. The slime is very special and can be easily traced that way," Egon explained.

"But can we protect ourselves against another slime attack?" Winston suddenly spoke up, the first thing he said throughout the conversation.

"I don't know. It reacts when coming in contact with bare skin. But it can soak through the uniform fabric, too." Egon frowned.

"So we need some kind of armor." Ray looked thoughtful. "A shield that can deflect the slime."

"If all else fails we can always borrow some suits of armor from a museum," Peter joked.

Egon didn't deign the remark with any comment and walked towards the stairs to go to his lab. "I will resume work on the detection device. Ray, will you help me?"

"Sure." Ray followed him.

As Egon arrived at the stairs he stopped, looking at Peter. "And you should get some more rest. You may only have a mild concussion, but it is a concussion nonetheless, Peter."

"Yes, mother," Peter replied and grinned. "I'll just lie down on the couch and catch a good movie while you guys drain your superbrains."

Egon looked mildly exasperated and resumed his walk upstairs. Winston followed Peter to the TV area where the psychologist eased himself on the long couch. He looked really tired, the black Ghostbuster noted. There were lines of strain in his face and Winston was sure Peter had the mother of all headaches.

"I'd kill for an aspirin," Peter muttered, burying his head in his hands and massaging his temples.

"I'll get you some," Winston offered and returned minutes later with a glass of water and the aspirin.

Peter took it thankfully and washed down two. Then he looked up. "So, do I get some company or do you want to think about the world and things in general in some dark corner of the basement, Zed?" A bright smile accompanied the words.

Winston sank down on the couch beside Peter. "I think I can live through a movie," he said amiably, trying his best not to show his still lingering feelings of guilt and pain.

Peter flipped through the channels until he found some kind of action/adventure movie and settled back. The movie wasn't on for more than fifteen minutes when Peter fell asleep, sliding sideways, resting his head against Winston's shoulder. The other man smiled a bit and eased Peter completely on the couch, getting a blanket to cover him. Peter muttered something and then curled onto the couch. Winston grinned.

It was funny how much these men felt like family. He had started out as an employee and Winston had never thought he'd work for more than a few weeks with this strange firm. But after the battle with Gozer he had been reluctant to go. The work had been fun and the three scientists had grown closer to him than he was ready to admit at that time. Each of them was special in a way.

 Egon Spengler, at first appearing like the unapproachable egg-head scientist, turned out to be a sensitive man with a hidden sense of humor who was always there when he was needed. Ray Stantz was like an always over-eager, very enthusiastic kid who needed someone to hold him back from plunging head first into danger. He was fun to be with, an easy going person who made friends with everyone at first sight. Peter Venkman was more street-wise than his two colleagues, but also very wary around strangers. Winston had felt a bit uneasy around him at first, until he discovered the man beneath that surface of cheerfulness and flippancy.

So he had continued his work, getting to know them even better. He didn't know when the employers had turned into close friends and then into his family. And one day Peter had grabbed him by the arm, had dragged him over to the couch and had made him sit down. Egon and Ray had been there tow and they had announced that they'd like to have him as a full partner. Winston had been completely speechless. A partner? That was something he had never even dared dreaming about! And now it had happened. It was crazy.

The time they now worked side by side seemed like ages. He thought he knew Egon, Ray and Peter for all his life now. He couldn't imagine doing something else but ghostbusting. But now something had happened. He had attacked one of his best friends, hurt him and nearly shot the other two. Even though Peter assured him again and again, either through words or simply by being around, that none of them held him responsible, he felt responsible. And for the first time since he had started out as a Ghostbuster he thought about leaving. Maybe it was an extreme reaction, but he didn't want them to get hurt again. Maybe he was reacting to the accumulated emotions. First the letter from his friend, now this ... accident. It was too much. He couldn't handle it.

Winston looked at Peter again, who was snoring softly on the couch. The psychologist had offered him a chance to talk whenever he needed to. And Winston really did need to talk, though he wasn't sure Peter was the right person to listen to his problems. But then -- was there anyone who was better equipped for it than Peter? No. With a sigh Winston sat down in the armchair, rubbing his face. 

Trying to get his mind off those darker thoughts he got out his latest novel. The TV kept on running in the background, providing some noise, but else everything was quiet.

 

* * *

 

Ray and Egon worked throughout most of the evening, coming out of the lab only to get some tools they didn't find there. Winston brought them some sandwiches and coffee and then went back downstairs. He had finished his novel and while he had rearranged the video tapes to keep himself busy, Peter had woken up.

Janine, who had been downstairs throughout most of the day, had come up for a break somewhere around the afternoon. Though the secretary had been told that there had been an accident involving Peter and Winston -- Ray had told her what had happened -- she hadn't been prepared for the colorful look of Peter's face.

"Peter, you look horrible!"

Peter moaned. "Did all of you look up synonyms for 'not good', or what? I already had awful, dreadful, bad and terrible!"

Janine smiled, though her eyes showed a bit of worry as she studied the battered face of her employer and friend. Relieved that it was nothing more than superficial bruising she asked:

"Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? Horrible doesn't even begin to describe it."

"Once was enough," Peter replied. "Guess I can cancel my dates for the next months or so."

"Lucky girls," Janine teased and fled to the kitchen when Peter threatened to throw a pillow -- and did, missing by lengths.

Now the psychologist sat on the couch, his feet propped on the table, watching the evening news. He had popped some corn, though he ate little. His stomach was still queasy -- which was all the better for Slimer, who happily devoured the rest of the popcorn. As Winston went over to the kitchen he looked up.

"How are our two superkids doing up there?" he asked.

"Talking weird, acting even weirder and forgetting everything around them."

"That are our boys!" Peter grinned. He stretched and yawned mightily. "I think I'll crash for tonight. I feel beat."

Winston flinched and Peter mentally kicked himself for saying that, but excusing now would rub it in, so he kept the jovial facade and stood. His headache had faded to the back of his head, though his bruised and puffy cheekbone bothered him now and then. It bothered him even more when he looked into a mirror and he had evaded every mirror in the whole firehouse lately, though he knew exactly what he looked like.

"I'll be up in a few minutes," the black man mumbled and disappeared downstairs.

Peter sighed and rubbed his slightly aching arm. The talk they had had not changed Winston's overall guilty feelings about the incident. They would have to get together for another round in the psychology circus some time soon. With that thought Peter climbed the stairs and minutes later sitting down on his bed, nearly instantly falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

"This detector will tell us the moment the ghost will make its appearance in a radius of about half a mile around Central." Egon looked at the three other Ghostbusters and then back at his small device. It looked just like their normal P.K.E. meter, though it was slightly bigger.

"So this doohickey will go off screaming when green-and-very-nasty pops up." Peter grinned at his blond colleague.

Egon didn't react to that comment. "I wired it to the alarm so we will hear it wherever we are."

The psychologist grimaced. "Great," he muttered.

"Despite having this warning system I think we should make periodic sweeps with our P.K.E. meters. Ray changed the settings so they pick up only this very special ghost's frequency."

"There goes a nice day of lying around in front of the TV." Peter just couldn't stop commenting.

"That action does not include you, Peter."

"You want me to stay here and do nothing? Spengs, you can't be serious. I'll come along."

The physicist shook his head. "The doctor said for you to get some rest."

"I'm perfectly okay, big guy. You can't keep me from riding along." Peter's green eyes glittered angrily.

Egon shot the other two a look, giving in. "But only if you promise me to stay out of a dangerous bust."

Peter grumbled something like an affirmative under his breath, then shrugged. Egon wasn't convinced that his friend would do exactly that, but he let the matter rest.

"When should we start the sweeps?" Ray wanted to know.

"It would be best to start now," the blond man replied. "We have two re-wired P.K.E. meters and if we split up we can cover more ground."

"What about the shields?" Winston asked.

Ray frowned. "I'm working on it. They require a lot of power and have to cover the whole body, but I think I can come up with a proto-type soon. Until then we have to stay out of the way of the slime."

Peter clapped the black man on the shoulder. "Okay, Zed-man, let's start packing up Ecto-1. We got a little town-sweeping to do." He pulled Winston along.

The other man looked like he wanted to protest the teaming of himself with Peter, but closed his mouth without saying anything at all. Egon watched the two men go downstairs, wondering if it was a wise decision to let Winston work with Peter. True, he needed more exposure to his friend, but would it really work the way the psychologist had planned it to? He didn't know and he didn't dare to speculate.

"I think," he addressed Ray, "we have to ask Janine a favor."

"Her car," the occultist said gravely.

"Her car," his older friend acknowledged.

 

* * *

 

Three hours and dozens of streets later Peter felt ready to throw the little meter out of the side window and go home. They must have swept half New York, but there was no sign of the ghost. Winston was driving along 110th Avenue towards Central Park North. The ride had been a very quiet one, the silence only broken by a comment here or there.

"You're awfully quiet, Zed," the dark-haired man suddenly said and looked up from the P.K.E. meter.

Winston shrugged.

"Got something on your mind you want to talk about?" Peter asked.

"You suddenly telepathic, or what?" the black man asked, slightly surprised.

Peter grinned. "If I were I'd be rich right now, having a luxurious house, a swimming pool with bikini-clad girls lying around and waiting me on hand and foot. But as it is, I ain't." He gave a dramatic sigh, then grew serious. "But I know my friends."

"I'm just thinking," Winston said.

"'bout what?"

"A few days off. A vacation."

"Okay, that can be arranged. Hell, we all could use some days off." Venkman smiled. "As long as nobody wants to go off camping. I had enough of those vacations."

"Wasn't that bad, Pete."

"Maybe. How long do you plan to stay away?"

"A few days, maybe a week." Somehow, Winston felt uncomfortable.

"As long as you remember to come back," Peter suddenly said, his eyes on the meter.

Zeddemore turned his head, looking at his friend in surprise. How could he have known .....?

That was the moment they passed Central Park and they P.K.E. meter reacted. It was the slightest of blips, but Peter saw it.

"Got something," he called and his driver slowed the car.

The blip returned, growing a bit stronger.

"South of here," the dark-haired man instructed the driver and Winston steered the car along Central Park.

Peter fumbled out the walkie talkie and pressed the 'talk' button.

"Ray? Egon? This is Peter. We got something. It's south of our current position ....."

"103rd/Manhattan," Winston supplied.

"We acknowledge the reading," Egon's tinny voice sounded over the loudspeaker. "We're closing in on the ghost's position right now."

"Wait for us, guys. We're on our way." With that Peter stowed the walkie talkie and turned to the other Ghostbuster. "Better get Ecto going top speed. As far as I know our two science boys they will need our help."

"You got it." Winston turned on the flashers and floored the pedal. Ecto-1 shot forward, sirens screaming.

 

*

 

"Fascinating," Egon murmured as they walked along the 90th Avenue, his eyes fixed on the P.K.E. meter. The readings were extraordinary -- even for a ghost.

Ray, his eyes not on the P.K.E. meter, but searching for any sign of the green ghost, suddenly caught a glimpse of it as it swooped along a narrow alley.

"There it goes!" he called, unhooked the thrower and ran after the green specter.

Egon followed him. Trash cans were stacked both sides of the alley and they had to file through it one after another. The alley broadened a bit after a few meters and when Egon came up beside Ray, who had stopped, he saw that it also ended after another few meters with a high wall. The ghost was floating in front of the wall, watching them. Its yellow, pupilless eyes were fixed on the two humans. When Ray lifted the thrower, the ghost made a dive for them, flinging its dangerous ectoplasm at them.

Egon made a hasty leap out of the way and found himself falling over two trash cans. Ray fired at the ghost, but missed. The ectoplasm nearly hit him and he had to go for cover, too. The ghost made another dive and went after the occultist, who had just taken refugee behind some garbage bags. They couldn't hide him completely. The next load of ectoplasm hit the bags and part of it splattered onto the jumpsuit. Ray didn't feel or see it. He simply fired at the oncoming ghost.

This time he didn't miss, but one proton stream was not enough to hold it. It simply bellowed in rage and pain, and with a hiss turned away from Ray.

Egon, who was still hiding behind the trash cans, suddenly heard booted feet coming towards them. He turned his head and discovered Peter and Winston running through the narrow alley. Zeddemore was first and was barely able to evade the ghost. Peter, who had been following him, hit the dirt as psych slime came flying at him. He crawled forward and found himself close to the spot where Ray sat behind some garbage bags. As he joined in the fire on the ghost Egon and Winston had started, he heard a muffled sob and a moan.

"Ray?"

The sob repeated itself.

"Ray!"

For a second he was inattentive and his particle beam wavered. The ghost took the opening to fling another round of psych slime that hit Peter squarely in the chest. The psychologist staggered backwards, stumbling over the trash bags, coming down hard beside Ray. Pain exploded in his arm. His thumb came off the trigger of the rifle and his proton stream died down.

"Peter!"

The yell coming from Winston and Egon nearly in unison was lost on Peter, who just sat there. He felt a terrible loneliness spread inside of him. A loneliness that wanted to swallow him. Everyone had left him, he was alone, no-one was there. His mind reeled with the concept and he curled his arms around his body.

"No," he whispered.

Pictures of his parents divorcing flashed up in his mind. His mother getting sick, the death of his grandmother, friends from school turning out to be no friends at all, his father never being home at Christmas ... All that washed over him in a second and he wanted to cry out to them not to leave him here all alone. Tears stood in his eyes. He felt like he was seven years old again and heard his mother tell him that grandma had died unexpectedly. He fought those tears, but couldn't keep a lonely tear slide down his cheek.

"Mom?" he whimpered.

He was ten and his mom was very sick. He thought it was his fault, that he was punished for something. They all left him. It was the worst punishment he could think of.

He was eleven when they moved into a new neighborhood and he went to a new school. He had no friends to play with, his dad was never home and his mom had to work hard. The feeling of loneliness strengthened around him like a wall and he sobbed.

There was a sound at his side, a muffled gasp of emotional pain. He turned slowly, expecting some trick, something he couldn't trust. But he saw only a familiar figure, an auburn-haired man. The man sat against the wall of a house, his face streaked with tears and his brown eyes wide with emotional pain and agony.

The familiarity triggered the urge to go to him and ask what was wrong and though a tiny part of his mind insisted it could also be a trick, Peter found himself coming closer. His mind supplied him with a name to the face. Ray. And pictures followed. A young student, eager, enthusiastic and trustworthy. A real friend. A friend in need.

Abandoning his own pain Peter reached out for Ray and touched one arm he had curled around his knees, which he had drawn up under his chin.

"Ray?" He heard his own voice wobble.

The younger man turned sightless, tear filled eyes on him. A sob escaped his lips.

"Ray, what's wrong?"

"They .... they're ....dead," Ray managed and more tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Who are?"

"Mom and Dad." Ray's shoulder twitched again and he cried harder. "They ... they told me .... they said ... they are .... they are ...." Unable to continue Ray buried his head in his arms.

That open pain moved Peter like nothing else could have done. He wrapped his arms around Ray and pulled him close, rocking him.

"Shhh," he soothed him. "It's okay."

The feeling of loneliness cleared around him, lifting like a curtain and though the remnants lingered on, Peter focused entirely on Ray. The occultist clung to him like a drowning person and cried his pain out. The ghost had hit a very tender spot in Ray, had aroused emotions he had surpressed successfully for years. The death of his parents had hit him hard and the following years with his foster family hadn't been easy.

"Don't wanna go to .... a foster home," Ray insisted with a child-like voice. "Don't wanna!"

"It's okay, Ray, you don't have to." Peter stroked the auburn head and was suddenly aware of someone coming closer. "You will come with us to your own home."

Large brown eyes looked at him. The flow of tears had stopped, but Ray's eyes were puffy and red. "Home?"

"Yes, to the fire house. To Egon and Winston and Janine and even Slimer." Peter allowed himself a grin. "Your home."

Ray blinked. "Home." He sniffled.

Peter brushed the tears from the other man's cheeks and nodded. "Yes," he repeated.

Ray looked up and took in the two men standing in front of them, looking very concerned. "Egon?" he stuttered. "Winston?"

Egon knelt down and touched Ray's arm. "Yes, Raymond. We will take you home. Where you belong."

Ray managed a smile as he heard those words and the terrible haunted look in his eyes vanished. He let himself be pulled up by Winston and Egon. Peter stood, too, and looked round.

"What happened to nasty?"

"He escaped after we had only two streams to contain it," Egon told Peter. "But we will find it again. The only important thing right now is for Ray to get home to Central."

Peter nodded and slung an arm around Ray's shoulders. "Come on, kid. Let's get you home."

 

* * *

 

It was late in the evening the same day. Ray was fast asleep. He had nearly instantly fallen to bed after they returned home. He was emotionally worn out and Peter was sure that not all of the pain Ray had felt at the memory of the death of his parents was gone. If Egon's theory about the amount of psych slime required to trigger a really intense memory was correct, Ray had just been brushed by the memories since there had been only a few drops of psych slime on his uniform. But Ray was a sensitive man and even a wisp of an unwanted memory or emotion could be enough to upset him very much.

Turning off the TV, Peter walked over to the window and stared into the night. Outside a lonely car rolled down the street and vanished. Street lamps lit up the darkness, but they couldn't light up the inside of the man standing at the window. The cold and black loneliness inside of him made Peter shiver. He had been unable to sleep and had decided to try and watch some boring movie to help him fall do so, but it hadn't worked out. Inside of him churned the feeling he had thought buried and forgotten a long time ago.

Today it had come back full force, overwhelming him and tearing down his defenses as if they were made out of paper. The psych slime had left him vulnerable and confused and he hated those feelings. He didn't remember anything of what he thought he was reality while under the psych slime's influence. All that remained were emotions. Very strong emotions. And he could attach those emotions to a memory. This way memories flooded back, washing over the unprepared victim. What had he said not so long ago? Nasty stuff. Yes, it was nasty. Very nasty, because when you surfaced from your emotional override you had no memories of it. Those returned bit by bit afterwards.

Heaving a sigh he leaned his head against the cold glass of the window and closed his eyes. He had put up a bright and cheerful facade for the guys, though he suspected Egon wasn't fooled but had decided to let the matter rest. Peter fervently hoped so. He wasn't up to talking with anyone about his experience. Especially Egon to whom he seemed to be made out of glass. A wry grin passed over Peter's lips. That was something that would never cease to amaze him. Egon was mostly so absorbed in his experiments that he forgot the world around him. But when he surfaced from that scientific haze and concentrated on what was happening around him nothing escaped him.

Winston had been quiet all along the way -- like before. Peter was worried about the other man, very worried. And this worry gave him something to concentrate on -- besides his own emotions. He was sure that Winston was going through the same phase he, Peter, was now. There were bound to be after images in his mind, too, reminding him off a time he had wanted to forget. If only he would talk and not hole up somewhere! How could he expect the others to help him if he didn't talk?

"Peter?"

The quiet voice made him jump and he looked up. Egon was standing behind him, clad in his night shirt. Shit! What had he done? Set off some kind of silent alarm? Yeah, probably he had.

"What are you doing up at this hour of the morning?" Egon asked.

"I could ask you the same question," Peter retorted.

"Peter," the other man reproached.

"Couldn't sleep," the psychologist said after a longer time of silence and turned back to the window, hoping Egon would go away, but knowing it was a wish he wasn't granted.

Egon stepped closer. "Why couldn't you sleep?" he asked.

Peter shrugged. Egon saw that his friend's defenses were up and that Peter had no intention of talking to him. That was one reason why Egon intended to make him talk.

"Because."

"Because of the psych slime," the blond physicist stated matter-of-factly.

Peter flinched violently and bit his lower lip. "It didn't really hit me," he muttered. "Just ..... kinda brushed past."

"It hit you squarely in the chest, Peter. You were thoroughly slimed."

"So what?" the dark-haired man hissed, turning half around and facing Egon.

"So do you want to talk about it?"

"No!"

"Peter ...."

"I said no, Spengler! You understand that little word?"

Egon didn't react to the attack, simply looked solemnly at Peter. After a moment Peter averted his eyes, his shoulders sagging and he turned back to the window.

"I needed to think," he said slowly.

"What about?" Egon asked quietly.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Everything, I guess." He rubbed his neck, feeling his headache return.

The physicist stepped behind him and began to gently massage Peter's neck. The dark-haired man leaned into it, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Whatever the ectoplasm made you think was real, it isn't, Peter," Egon said softly, never ceasing the massage. "It was only an illusion."

"An illusion that was reality once," Peter muttered, biting his bottom lip. Why was it that he always got talking around Egon? What was it about the other man that made Peter feel comfortable enough to lower part of his guard and tell things he would normally bury deep inside where they couldn't hurt him?

Egon kept his silence, waiting for the younger man to continue.

"When the psych slime hit me ....," Peter suddenly said, his voice a whisper, " ... I ...... I was alone again." He shuddered and raked his shaky fingers through his hair, closing his eyes.

Egon stopped the massage, feeling shocked. He knew about Peter's past, maybe better than any one did. And because of that he knew what Peter was talking about. He squeezed the other man's shoulders in sympathy, not knowing what to say.

"I know that it was just an illusion," Peter continued, "but it was real for that moment. Very real. And then I heard Ray and I knew he needed me. I ... I fought against those emotions and I thought I had won -- because of Ray. But it was another illusion. It's still there. It was always there." Another shudder. "And it always will be," he added softly.

"You are not alone, Peter. You will never be alone," Egon tried to assure him, pained by the vulnerability he heard in his friend's voice. "We are here."

Peter reached up to his shoulder and squeezed the hand there. "I know, Spengs," he replied quietly. "I know. And I'm grateful." He leaned back against Egon and sighed. "Very grateful. Maybe I don't make a big deal out of it, but I sometimes wouldn't know what to do without you guys." He gave a wry smile. "I often think that I had a hell of a luck to meet you and Ray, and that one day I'll luck out and you will be gone. That I will be alone again." A shiver passed through his body.

Egon turned Peter to face him. "You will never be alone, Peter. Never."

"Don't make promises you can't keep! I had my share of those already!" Anger floated in Peter's voice and he caught himself, embarrassed. "I'm doing it again, ain't I? Yelling at you. I'm sorry. I really don't mean it."

Egon tousled Peter's hair. Normally Peter would have wailed and protested, now he only shot Egon an annoyed look. "I know," he said gently.

With an effort Peter pulled his defenses neatly back into place. He was never comfortable with baring his soul and letting others see what he tried so desperately to hide. But with Egon, a part of his mind told him, it was all right. As with Ray and Winston, too. They would never use it against him.

"Will you be all right?" Egon asked.

"I guess so. I know that Ray won't be. Not after what he went through once again. And Winston ....." A sigh.

"Winston will work through his emotions, too," Egon assured him.

"I'm not so sure. I talked to him, but I don't think it sank it. Egon, when we bust that ghost I think Winston and I need to settle a few things -- once and for all."

The blond man nodded. "Maybe. Give him some space."

"I am giving him space, Spengs, but I don't think what he experienced is the trigger for the way he's behaving."

The other man quirked an eyebrow. Peter shook his head, knowing he couldn't talk to Egon about it -- not now. Egon accepted the decision and didn't prod any further.

"I think we should sleep," he said instead. "I want to try and find the ghost again tomorrow."

"No more splitting up, big guy," the psychologist immediately said.

Egon nodded and started for the stairs. Peter stopped to him, unexpectedly pulling him into a hug. Egon was surprised at first, then returned the hug. When Peter pulled away again he gave the older man a quick grin.

"Thanks," he simply said and then went towards the stairs to the third floor.

"You're welcome," Egon whispered with a fond smile and followed. "Always."

 

* * *

 

The next days passed uneventful. There were some easy busts, mainly class-2's, but no sign of the ghost with the special ectoplasm, the psych slime. Egon was working on his detection device, while Ray researched the ghost more thoroughly. Winston was helping either the two scientists or doing housework. Peter's bruises were healing and the burn on his arm was fading. It didn't trouble him much. He spent most of his time dropping in on Ray and Egon or pester Janine. Winston was still evading him and Peter knew he had to do something about it. This couldn't go any further.

Ray had come through his encounter with the psych slime more or less all right. The work on the device was keeping his mind busy throughout the day and the night shifts he and Egon pulled. But Peter knew that when all of this was over, the shock might settle in. Ray had had a few nightmares, but he hadn't woken from them.

Three days after the last encounter the alarm went off again. The four men scrambled for their packs and jumped into the car. As they drove to the address where the ghost had been sighted -- Egon had installed a kind of map on the read out screen so they could tell where exactly the ghost was -- Ray turned around on the front passenger seat.

"Egon and I have installed a small protective shield in the proton pack," he informed Peter and Winston. "It draws on the same source as the throwers so we can't use it to full extent. But used on half power it's strong enough to withstand the psych slime -- theoretically."

"Oh, I already love it," Peter moaned. "Theoretically he says. What if it doesn't work?"

"Duck?" Egon suggested with a raised eyebrow.

"Ingenious plan, big guy."

"We can power up the shields for a few seconds," Ray went on, "but it's not advisable while using the thrower on full power, too."

"Why?" Peter simply asked.

"It won't work."

"Aha. Great." Peter leaned back in his seat. "So we have two options. One: it works out fine, we bust the ghost, everything's fine. Two: the shield fails, the ghosts kicks our butt and we're back to square one."

"The shields will work, Peter," Egon lectured. "We tested them."

"Okay, Spengs. They will work. But since I'm the team skeptic, I believe it when I see it."

Ray grinned and turned back to face the street. They were close to the address.

When Winston stopped the car in a no-parking area they saw the place where the ghost was supposed to be for the first time. It was a supermarket. The area was closed off by police lines and spectators had gathered behind the yellow lines. The four Ghostbusters walked over to the front entrance of the supermarket, which lay in ruins. The doors had been glass once, but were now burst and the sharp glass littered the sidewalk.

"Thank god you're here!" a man called and came towards them. "My name's Harry Pierce. I own the place."

"What happened?" Ray wanted to know while Egon took out his P.K.E. meter and frowned at the display.

"A ghost suddenly appeared in the grocery department and flung slime at our staff. One of the women in the meat department was hit and she broke down with a cry. We tried to calm her, but she refused to let anyone touch her."

"Psych slime," Peter muttered. Aloud he said: "Has she calmed down?"

Pierce shook his head. "No. She fought against anyone who came near and the police said we should leave the building."

"You mean she's still inside?" Winston asked sharply.

Pierce shrunk under his glare. "Yes. But the police said they'd send someone in to talk to her."

Peter straightened. "Sounds like a job for me." He turned to the others. "You think you can cover me as long as I need to get her outside?"

They nodded.

"I think three streams are enough to keep the ghost from attacking, but will need four to trap it," Egon said gravely.

"Then let's go." Peter once again turned to Harry Pierce. "What's the woman's name?"

"Emily Colm."

The four men walked off towards the building's entrance and disappeared. Two policemen took position on both sides of the entrance, prepared to lead away the woman who was still inside if she came out.

 

"Boy, what a mess," Ray muttered as he took in the devastated shelves. The floor was littered with opened packages, cans of food and slime.

"The meat's down there." Winston pointed to their right and Peter nodded.

"Okay, I'll go and look for Emily. You guys cover me. It'll only take a second." He flashed them a smile. "No woman can resist my charm."

Egon made a rude noise, but readied his thrower. The three remaining Ghostbusters spread out, but made sure they were close enough to each other not to loose sight.

Peter jogged along the shelves and kept an eye out for their psych slime ghost. But there was no trace of it. As he reached the meat department he slowed his pace and looked round. There were frozen pieces of meat strewn around the floor and one of the deep freeze trunks was turned over. As he moved through the meat maze he suddenly he heard a sob. Peter stopped and discovered a woman in her mid-thirties with curly hair. She was dressed in a kind of uniform, a white blouse and a red skirt with an apron. She huddled in a corner and her large, blue eyes were wide and full of tears. Peter saw that most of her dress was covered in green slime.

Peter edged carefully closer, walking slowly. The woman looked up as she heard his steps and tried to move deeper into the corner she had chosen as her refugee.

"Keep away from me!" she cried, her voice hoarse and wobbly.

Peter stopped and spread his arms. "Hello, Emily."

She stared at him.

"How do you know my name?"

"I'm Peter Venkman from the Ghostbusters. We always know our customers." He gave her a cheerful smile.

"Ghostbusters?" she repeated.

He nodded. "We've been called to bust a nasty. But before we can do that, you have to get out of the danger zone. We don't want beautiful women to get hurt."

The woman's eyes widened with what Peter realized wasn't surprise, but shock. She shook her head. "I'm not beautiful," she cried.

Confused, Peter stepped closer. "Emily....." he began.

"Don't come closer! Don't touch me!"

The psychologist stopped again. "Okay, I stay away. But if you don't get out of here, you might get hurt."

Emily shook her head again. "I won't go anywhere with you! I know what you want from me!"

Peter's confusion grew, but part of his mind thought he knew what he was dealing with. "I won't touch you, Emily. I won't even be close to you. But you have to get out of here. Your friends and colleagues are outside and they are very worried."

The woman kept on shaking her head. "It's a trick. I know it. Just like the last time. You want only one thing."

That was the moment the ghost made his appearance. It popped through a shelf and roared, taking in the two humans. Peter cursed and flung himself at Emily, pulling her up and shoving her down an aisle as the ghost made a crash dive on them. The woman screamed and started to beat him with her fists. She wasn't strong enough to inflict real damage, but she hit his burned arm and one knuckled hand brushed over his bruised cheekbone. Peter held on to her with all strength and went for cover. Behind him he heard proton streams come to life and the ghost fled. Suddenly two policemen appeared, taking the still screaming woman by the arms and pulling her out.

Peter grabbed his thrower and ran over to his colleagues who were firing at the ghost which was zigzagging through the supermarket. Now and then it flung slime at them, missing by some feet.

"Switch on the shields!" Egon yelled and switched on his own. It covered the blond man in a faint blue mist.

The other three followed his example and went after the ghost. It wasn't far away and resumed his attack immediately. The first blob of slime hit Ray and the occultist staggered under the attack, but the slime slid off the shield without further ill effect on Ray. Another slime ball hit Winston and he slipped as he stepped into the puddle. With an 'ouff' he sat down and lost grip on his thrower. The other three resumed their attack and caught the ghost in their streams.

"Winston?" Peter yelled, glancing over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Winston grumbled and tried to get up. He readied his thrower from his sitting position and trained it on the ghost. A fourth stream caught the psych slime ghost.

It kept on flinging slime at them and writhed in the streams.

"We need more power!" Ray yelled, fiddling with the dials on the thrower.

"Didn't you say it would weaken the shields?" Peter asked.

Ray nodded and kept on fiddling. The faint blue haze around him nearly disappeared. Peter cursed and edged over to him. Then he saw Egon do the same. But his shield popped out completely.

"Shit!" Peter muttered and tried to keep the ghost busy with his thrower while the other two fed more power in their rifles.

Maybe the ghost had understood the meaning of the blue haze or maybe it was just a lucky shot, but now it flung a glob of slime at Egon. It caught the physicist on the shoulder and Peter let out a yell. But before he could find out what it was that Egon lived through again they had to catch the ghost.

"Trap!" he ordered and Winston complied.

A trap slid over the slime covered floor and Zeddemore stomped onto the trigger pedal. The ghost was caught in the harsh, bright light of the containment field. It disappeared with a final roar. The moment the trap's doors snapped shut Peter ran over to the blond physicist.

Egon stood were he was hit with the psych slime like he was rooted to the spot. His blue eyes were wide and his forehead was beaded with sweat. The thrower lay on the floor, his hands were clenched into fists. Suddenly a stubborn line drew around his mouth.

"You don't frighten me!" he addressed the three men in general, his eyes fixed on a spot in their middle.

"Egon?" Ray asked, concerned.

Peter held up a hand and stopped the occultist from advancing further. "Careful, Ray. He was hit by the psych slime. We don't know what he thinks is reality now."

Egon took a step backwards, then drew up his shoulders, his chin jutted defensively. "You don't frighten me anymore," he repeated. "I'm grown up now. I'm not afraid of you!"

Peter licked his dry lips. "Egon? It's me Peter. Ray and Winston are here, too."

The blond man tightened his fists and a muscle in his cheek twitched. "Get back where you came from!" he ordered whatever apparition he thought to see.

"I will, Egon, but first I'm gonna get you back to us." Peter advanced on Egon, aware that Ray and Winston were behind him.

Large, blue eyes stared unseeingly at him. "I know you only come if I'm afraid! I'm not afraid any more!" The voice held a decidedly child-like tone.

Realization hid the psychologist. Ray seemed to come to the same result.

"The Bogeyman," he breathed. "Oh, no, he thinks the Bogeyman is back."

"Egon, we're your friends, not some kind of ghost."

Egon blinked and for a second his eyes cleared. Then he held the frightened, but brave look again. "I know you're not a ghost!"

Peter smiled. "Okay, the Bogeyman isn't a ghost," he gave in. "But we fought it and we won. Twice. Remember, big guy? He tried to frighten you and you fought back. We trapped him in his own world. And when he came back, we busted him for good. He's gone. He can't hurt you any more."

"Gone?" Again he looked like he saw reality for a second.

"Yes, gone. Busted. He won't come back."

Egon blinked furiously and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Peter?" he whispered and his knees gave way.

Peter caught him and steadied him. "Yes, Spengs. It's me. How do you feel?"

Egon forced some strength back in his knees and detached himself from Peter. "I ... I don't know." He shuddered. "It was terrible."

Ray flung his arms around the still shaky man. "Egon!"

The blond man gave a slight smile. The feeling of fear and childhood nightmare still lingered on and he knew they wouldn't pass in the next few minutes, but he was sure that he could manage.

"Hello, Raymond."

Ray smiled happily at him. "You're back!"

"I never went away," Egon replied with a puzzled frown.

Peter laughed in sheer delight and hugged his two friends. "Let's blow this pop-stand. Come on, Zed! I think we earned our keep for today."

Winston picked up the trap and grinned, too, the first open smile in days. "I think we're still missing something ...." he said meaningfully and looked at the dark-haired man.

Peter understood and his grin broadened. "Can we go home now?"

 

* * *

 

 One day later everything was nearly back to normal. Egon had come through his experience of the past memories better than Peter had expected. Well, he had faced the Bogeyman twice and both times he had won a little victory over his fear. And since the physicist had been hit with only a little bit of slime, the memories faded faster.

With Ray the shock seemed to have finally settled in, though with less force than thought. The night after the bust had been a sleepless one for Peter. Ray had woken from a nightmare concerning his parents' death, but Peter was pretty sure it would soon pass. Ray had reassured him that he was fine, that he would manage.

 _"Really, Peter, I'm fine." Ray looked earnestly at the man sitting on his bed. "It was just a bad dream, but nothing serious."_

 _Peter smiled at him. "Just remember that there are people here who want to help you, Ray," he reminded the younger man._

 _Ray nodded. "Yes, I know. It was bad when it happened," he confessed softly and his eyes suddenly held this haunted look again. "And it was very bad when I had to relive it, but ..... I managed it before and I can now."_

 _"You don't have to 'manage' it, Ray. Talk if you need to. I listen. You know I always have an open ear."_

 _Ray sighed a bit. "Yes, and I'm grateful for it, Peter."_

 _Peter squeezed the other man's clasped hands. "Don't let it eat you up from inside. I know what I'm talking about, kid, believe me. I learned the hard way."_

 _Brown eyes stared at him. "Are you all right?" Ray wanted to know all of a sudden._

 _That hit Peter unexpected._

 _"Yeah, I'm all right, Ray," he said hastily._

 _"The ghost got to you, too," Ray stated as if it was a well-known fact from out of the books. "You were slimed, too, Egon told me."_

 _Peter cursed Egon for telling Ray, though he knew the blond man wouldn't have hidden that fact from his younger colleague._

 _"Yes, I got slimed, but not badly. And I got over it." As the brown eyes continued to look at him that way Peter gave a little sigh. "I think we all need time," he finally said._

 _That drew a smile from Ray. "As long as you remember that we're here for you, too, I'll remember that you are on 24-hour service."_

 _Peter chuckled softly. Ray yawned mightily and settled back in his bed._

 _"Good idea, kid," the dark-haired man said and stifled a yawn of his own._

 _"G'night, Peter," Ray mumbled and closed his eyes, falling asleep nearly instantly._

 _Peter sat on his friend's bed for a few more minutes, watching the sleeping form. When he finally got up and returned to his own bed he saw that Egon was wide awake, watching him. He gave the blond man a smile._

 _"Sorry to wake you."_

 _Egon shook his head. "You didn't wake me."_

 _"Nightmare?" Peter inquired, concerned._

 _That got him a fond smile. "No, Dr. Venkman, not a nightmare. You can close the office for tonight."_

 _Peter returned the smile and sat down on his bed, stifling another yawn. "Night, Egon," he said and slid under the blanket._

 _"Night, Peter," was the soft reply._

 

Now, the morning after, Peter sat in his office behind Janine's desk and went through some stuff he should have done days ago, but hadn't had the nerve to do. It was Janine's day off and it was somehow awfully quiet in Central. Egon and Ray were in the lab, playing around with some new gizmos. Winston had not yet made an appearance downstairs and when Peter had taken breakfast he hadn't seen the black Ghostbuster either.

Peter had called the police to ask for the woman from the supermarket, Emily Colm. He had had a long talk with the precinct's psychologist, a woman named Alexandra McIntyre, who had talked to Emily after she had calmed down in the precinct. Peter's suspicion had been confirmed: Emily had nearly been raped a few years ago and the experience was still painful in her mind, though she had buried it deep down inside. The psych slime had triggered it and she had fought off every male person trying to touch her. Now she was fine again, though she'd need psychological counseling. She had even called Peter, which had surprised him very much, and apologized for hitting him. Normally, Peter would have invited her for lunch or dinner, but his knowledge of her mental state and the emotional experience she had gone through kept him from that step. Instead he had made his move on Alexandra McIntyre.

Suddenly he heard someone come down the stairs. Peter stood and looked over the filing cabinets. It was Winston. He was dressed in his 'civvies' and had a bag in one hand.

"Morning, Winston," Peter said casually and came out of his office.

Winston turned, a startled look on his face. "Morning, Pete," he managed after a second.

"Weekend vacation?" Peter asked, pointing at the bag.

Though it was hard to tell whether Winston blushed or not, Peter had the impression he did. "Kinda," he mumbled.

The dark-haired man smiled. "Philadelphia?" he suggested.

Winston looked uneasily at his feet. "Maybe."

"Need a travel companion?"

The other man shook his head immediately. "No, that's not necessary. B'sides you got work here."

Peter raised both eyebrows. "You know something I don't? What's Egon planning up there in his lab? Some terrible work scheme, right?" He shuddered. "I planned this to be a nice, relaxing weekend."

That drew a chuckle from Winston.

"Just wait a sec and I pack my stuff," Peter continued, much more serious, but still looking relaxed.

"Pete..... I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not? You ashamed of me? I can behave, you know. And if you give a few hours I could also learn to use fork and knife."

"That's not it. I mean, you'd be an outsider. You weren't there. You don't have an idea what it was." Winston shrugged helplessly. "You might take things they say the wrong way. They got names for people who weren't in 'Nam because of college." The black Ghostbuster looked a bit embarrassed.

Peter raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Like?"

"Uh ......"

"Well, I can live with that name," the psychologist said promptly. "Come on, Zed. Can't be that bad. I survived college. I can handle myself. I'm a grown-up. If you're uneasy with me around, I'll stay, of course. But why don't you let me come along for the ride to Philadelphia? I could always do some sight seeing."

Winston heaved a sigh. Part of him was glad Peter wanted to come along. The meeting would rouse old phantoms and he would need someone to talk to -- and Peter was the best listener he knew.

Peter looked closely at his friend. "Or does it have something to do with me as a person?" he added quietly.

Winston stared at him with a shocked expression in his face. "What gives you that idea?" he gasped.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe the fact that you've been avoiding contact with me, that you walk out of a room minutes after I enter, that we don't really talk with each other any more -- that you look at me with this guilty look in your eyes that's normally Ray's métier. Call me paranoid, but that's what it looks to me."

"I'm not evading you, Pete."

"Then what are you doing? I hope you're not getting onto the same track Ray sometimes does. Whatever happened in the last few days -- nothing was your fault."

Winston bit his lip. Peter had hit the nail right on the head. The superficial wounds in Peter's face may have healed, but the wounds inside Winston hadn't. There was still this nagging fear that something like this could happen again.

Peter walked over to his friend, took him by the arm and guided him over to Janine's desk. There he made him sit down on the chair. "Okay, Zeddemore, spill it, once and for all. We need to clear this thing right now." He propped himself on the table and raised both eyebrows at his friend, encouraging him to talk to him.

Winston heaved a sigh. "I can't get it out of my mind, Pete," he finally confessed. "I know what you said a few days ago is somehow true, that it wasn't really me, but then again: it was me. Don't you see?"

"What do you remember of what happened?" Peter wanted to know.

"Nothing. It's a complete blank. The only thing I remember are emotions. Bad ones. That's it." The black man raised his head. "Now don't tell me that because I don't remember knocking you out cold means I'm off the hook. Maybe, one day, something like this happens again and I do remember. Maybe one day my military training gets the better of me and I hurt one of you guys because my mind goes bye-bye. It can happen. I have seen it happen."

Peter placed a hand on the other man's shoulder and squeezed it slightly. "Maybe it can happen, Winston. But that's something we can only theorize about. What happened in the past was neither your fault, nor anybody else's. We all got hit by that ghost and we all had our share of nightmare memories." For a second a shadow passed over Peter's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "But if we hold on to those memories we only worsen the effect. I'm not holding you responsible for anything, my friend. I just want to help you. And I can't help you if you're evading me constantly and don't give me a chance."

"That's why you want to come along?" Winston inquired, knowing that this was Peter's main reason.

"Maybe. Maybe I want to make sure you come back home." Serious green eyes held the dark brown ones.

Winston stared at him. "Why ... how ....."

"How do I know that you ponder leaving us? Winston, I got eyes in my head. You've gone through some bad stuff and you think we might be better off without you. Believe me, we won't."

"Did you talk to the others about it?"

The dark-haired man shook his head. "No. This will be between us, my friend." He smiled. "Well, whaddaya say?"

"You got ten minutes," Winston told the psychologist after a minute and Peter grinned.

"Be down in five," he called and ran up the stairs.

Upstairs he met Ray who was just coming out of the lab. The occultist watched him in surprise as Peter quickly threw some of his stuff in a bag and grabbed his tooth brush.

"Where are you going?" he wanted to know.

Peter turned. "Hi, Ray. Morning to you. Winston and I just decided to take off to Philadelphia for the weekend. Since business is slow right now I thought it'd do us some good."

"Philadelphia?" a bass voice inquired. Egon had left the lab, too, as he had heard Peter's voice. Now he frowned at the psychologist.

"Winston's meeting some pals of his and I thought I could grab a few sights," Peter simply explained, but Egon caught the deeper meaning immediately. The two men shared an understanding look.

"A very good idea, Peter," the blond man only remarked and nodded. "I don't think there will be an emergency we can't handle with two throwers."

"And we also have Janine as a back-up,"  
Ray added.

"We'll be back on Sunday. Promise," Peter said and went for the stairs. "I gotta run, guys! See ya!"

With that he disappeared down the stairs. Minutes later the front door closed after him and Winston.

"You think Winston and Peter will work it out?" Ray asked.

Egon nodded, walking back into the lab. "They will. Peter will make sure of it."

Ray smiled, knowing that Peter really would, and followed Egon, ready to plunge back into their experiment.


End file.
